The BLTS Archive - Perhaps
first in the Sh*ttl*cr*ft/St*rsh*p Smut series
by Sasscat Bu-to-y(fitchett@netaccess.co.nz)

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Disclaimer:  Paramount... Voyager... ownership...

(c) Sasscat Bu-to-y 1999

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He is with *her* tonight.  No doubt Captain Janeway would disapprove
if she knew that I was watching, but I find it difficult to refrain.
He is attractive.  They both are, from an aesthetic point of view, but
I have found that beauty is seldom about aesthetics.  He undresses her
slowly, methodically, and they murmur each other's names in the dark.

With my superior optical acuity I have no difficulty in observing
their encounter.  Ensign Paris - Tom - is exceptionally gentle
tonight, his hands caressing her delicately.  I spend a moment
imagining those hands on me, the soft texture of their movements as
he touches me.

The emotion is jealousy, considered in 87.5 percent of the articles I
have assimilated to be a negative emotion.  Perhaps it is.  In any
case, I know that it is futile to wish it away.  Equally futile is the
emotion itself, the desire to feel his hands on me once more.  I--  I
resent her.  I cannot help but resent her; he loves her, and he does
not love me.  Sometimes I think it would be a simple matter to
transport her into space on wide dispersal... or into the edge of our
warp bubble...

No doubt Captain Janeway would disapprove.  Seven of Nine is a valued
crewmember, far more valued than myself.  It is true that the senior
staff have risked their lives for me on numerous occasions, but they
did so as a matter of duty, not out of any real awareness that I was
worthy of that risk.  Perhaps I am not.  And perhaps...

It is not long until Tom's next duty shift, by their terms or mine.
I will be permitted the luxury of feeling his hands on me... guiding
me to levels of speed and power and agility in manoeuvres I could not
accomplish alone - nor would I want to.  At times, when I think of
those moments we are able to share, my functions grow erratic.  In
Engineering, Lieutenant Torres also grows erratic - I have discovered
what might be termed a 'perverse pleasure' in frustrating her.

In any case, for a time I will tremble under his touch... for a
time...
and perhaps one day he will grow more fond of me.

I refuse to run a probability analysis on that last supposition.
There are some things a starship does not need to know.

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continued in the second of the Sh*ttl*cr*ft/St*rsh*p Smut series --
'Unable to Comply'